Of Love and Lust
by Dixie990
Summary: Hell hath no fury like a desire demon scorned...or so Dorian learns after spurning the advances of a particularly feisty demon calling himself 'Lust'. Determined to take command of Dorian, Lust set's about using Dorian's desire for Lavellan to drive him mad. Will Dorian fall to temptation or will Lavellan's affections be enough to save him from corruption-Rated for future sexiness!
1. Chapter 1

**Of Love and Lust**

AN: I don't often venture into fanfic's, but Bioware apparently owns my soul and this story blossomed after completing a playthrough romancing Dorian. I love Dorian… I think he's brilliant... and I need some practise writing MxM so why the heck not? In case it's not obvious, there will be spoilers for the DAI game, I don't own bioware's stuff AND… rated 'M' for future sexiness!

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><p><strong>ONE – Lust Scorned<strong>

Gold and silk dusted the floor of the gleaming marble room. The light, the splendour of it was dazzling. I lounged against the velvets of a luxury couch, smiling as I gazed out over the beauty of the fade. Nights like this reminded me why it was so wonderful to be a mage. Attitudes to sexuality and blood magic aside, I had to admit I was lucky to be a Tevinter Altus. It was certainly preferable to living in fear of my own abilities like they did in Southern Thedas. Besides, I doubted Southern mages got anywhere near this much… pleasurable attention. I grinned smugly to myself as a long, lithe hand dropped another succulent grape into my mouth. Maker… these desire demons were getting better and better. I was actually _almost_ tempted this time.

That same hand reached up to tuck a long lock of purest white hair behind one pointed ear as ruby eyes smiled down at me. The curve of sensual lips pulled into a sinful smile and I felt my heartbeat quicken. He was beautiful, an almost perfect mirror of Lavellan himself, except, of course, I had never seen the Herald out of his coat. But the desire demon made up for it with a very beautiful fantasy. Vast expanses of sun-stained skin, the tattoo's extending down from his face to mark along his chest and arms.

"Am I not better than the real thing?" The demon purred, sensing my comparison and offering me another golden goblet of sweet wine as he shifted a little closer. He fixed me with his ruby gaze. "Am I not better company?" He reached out with his free hand and ran warmest fingertips along my face, the touch ghostly… incomplete.

"You _are_ good company," I admitted, taking the goblet and sipping at the wine. "And I applaud the effort you've made. The likeness is almost perfect." I gestured to his face and body. "If I were a stupid mage, you might even have fooled me."

"I can be anything," he promised, ignoring my snide remark in favour of leaning forward, just enough that breath should have brushed my face. "I can _do_ anything you like. I won't reject you. I won't laugh at you, or scorn you. I won't try to change you-"

"Ah yes, of course," I sighed, relaxing back against the couch as he planted kisses along my jaw to my neck. "Play upon my fears to enhance the desire, you're a clever one, aren't you." I rested one hand behind my head, with the other I ran fingers through his silken hair. I barely knew the real Lavellan. I'd helped him take down Alexius but… we'd barely had time to talk, let alone get to know each other. I didn't even know his first name…not yet. But here I was, with enough unspent yearning that desire demons of this, impressive calibre, were trying their luck.

His fingers were slipping beneath my robe, mapping out my skin with a ghostly touch. Better than the real thing? Maybe… who could say? I'd not tasted the real Lavellan's smile, nor stolen any of his touch beyond pulling him out of the line of fire or brushing my magic against his to shield him from danger. I closed my eyes and moaned as the demon began to run his tongue along the grooves of each muscle on my chest.

Lavellan's magic. He hummed a different tune. No other mage I'd ever met sounded even remotely like him. I wondered if it was the mark or if his power had always sung like that? Maybe it was his Dalish nature? He sounded... free. Wild, untameable; a tribal drumbeat amidst wind-like flutes and gentle watering chimes.

I wrinkled my nose as the demon tried desperately to mirror the desire in my heart, as he tried to mimic the song I could already hear so clearly. No, the sound of magic could not be so easily faked and the demon's version was twisted, corrupted… interrupted by the discords of my own power's song.

I shook my head and opened my eyes. "Sorry, Darling," I told him, batting him away from my bared chest. "You are a pretty mirror… but a reflection will never be as sweet as the real thing."

The demon scowled at me as he sat up, those handsome features twisting into an ugly fury. "You don't have the real thing!" he snapped. "You'll never have the real thing. He'll never look at you the way _I_ look at you. He'll never love you the way _I_ can."

I tutted and pushed myself up from the couch, reaching to button my robe. "Please," I scoffed, "You'll have to do better than that."

"He might not even liked men-"

I turned and pointed a finger at the demon, a triumphant smile spreading on my face. "'Might'. No, he _might_ not… but he _might well_…"

Its fury was turning to desperation and he leaned forward to claw at the hem of my robe, as if this would persuade me. "You have no assurance, no guarantee. I can give you everything, right here… right now." He tilted his head back, his long neck bared in an offering.

"You're right… I don't," I agreed. "But what's the fun if I don't even try?" I set the demon with my most spiteful glare. "Why settle for a cheap knockoff?" I waved my hand at it. "Run along now, I've had all the fun I want from you; go find someone else to hire yourself out too, Harlot."

"Dorian… please…" he stood with me, reaching up to hook his lithe arms around my neck, pressing himself to me in one last desperate attempt. "Make love to me… fuck me…" he ran his hand down my chest as he kissed at my neck. "Anything you like… just… let me in… please. We go so well together, you and I. I'll make you strong, make you powerful, you can do anything with me at your side. You will be the one, the Archon that restores Tevinter…"

"Oh that is _enough_! You really are getting desperate now, aren't you?" I rolled my eyes and shook my head, stepping away from him. "Leave me alone. You'll get nothing from me." I raised my hand and sent a jolt of electric out to snap at his reaching hands.

He hissed… actually hissed as he recoiled. His face twisted, his nose wrinkled as he snatched his hands back. "You _will_ fall, Dorian of house Parvus. I _will_ have you!"

"Yes, yes, same old story." I began to will myself awake, to leave the fade before this demon turned truly nasty.

"You know not what you have scorned," he screamed. "I will not be denied! I am _Lust._.. you cannot be free of me! You'll never be free of me, not while you stand in his company! I'll haunt you, drive you wild-"

"Oh give it a rest."

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><p><strong>The fall of Haven<strong>

It kept replaying in my head, over and over; the moment when he shouted at us to run. Faced with an Archdemon… I did. I ran. I'd thought he'd be right behind me, but when we reached the chantry doors and I finally looked back… he wasn't there. If he had died I would never have forgiven myself. The guilt in those hours of his absence… a pity for the demons that none of them offered me a bargain then… I would have given anything for his life, for his safety. But it seemed a bargain wasn't necessary, he was chosen after all… he had to be.

Cullen and Cassandra had gone out looking for him. I would have gone with them, but neither trusted 'the Tevinter mage' yet. Instead I waited with Varric, my heart leaping wildly when I saw them come back around the mountain with Lavellan draped over Cullen's back, unconscious, but still humming… still alive.

They still wouldn't let me help. I knew healing magic, but they turned to Solas instead. The jealousy as I watched the other elven mage touch Lavellan- watched him bind his wounds and reset his broken arm- rose up as burning bile in my throat. They didn't trust me… I didn't trust them. Not with him… not with Lavellan.

I shook my head and turned away. What was wrong with me? I'd never been so pathetically possessive in my life. I'd certainly never been jealous… not like this. I ran a hand over my hair and smoothed out my moustache. It was the desire demon still lingering on the edge of my thoughts, it had to be. I needed to stay away, both from that glorious palace, and from the real Lavellan. If there was a demon hovering… feeding on my lust… I couldn't let it touch Lavellan.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. My heart leapt in my chest. He was awake. Finally. My breath of relief misted in the cold air in front of my face. He was coherent, talking with that chantry mother as the higher circle of the Inquisition bickered like children. It was getting us nowhere, and Lavellan seemed to agree. He pushed himself onto exhausted feet and moved towards them, meaning to give them what for, I was sure. But his strength seemed to fail him half way and he ended up leaning against one of the tent posts, watching them with a furrowed brow.

I got to my feet with every intention of going over and helping him- approval of the others be damned- when she began to sing. The chantry mother lifting her voice to the heavens with a hymn of hope for hearts still too heavy. One voice joined with hers, then another, another, another. I told myself it was foolish, that singing would solve nothing… but at the same time, there was an undeniable medicine in the sound. I relaxed, sat back down by the fire and just kept an eye on him. I needed to stay away, hadn't I just told myself that? I kept watch as they sang for Lavellan, watched as it softened hearts all over until even the higher circle had calmed into something that could make plans and execute them.

He joined them at the table as they talked over what they would do now that Haven was behind us.

Lavellan… Maker he was a vision. His long white hair trailed over his shoulder, a pair of braids running from along the left side to the right and tangling with the other locks. His features were narrow, lithe, unmistakably elven. I'd never been so enchanted by an elf before. We had them in droves in Tevinter; some were lowly slaves but others had risen to the ranks of Magister. But, beautiful as they were, they'd never really caught my eye before. Too feminine, I'd supposed. But Lavellan broke all the rules. Soft but strong, beautiful but somehow masculine, gentle in his own way, yet charming. I'd never known so many fascinating contradictions in one person before. This was perhaps why the visions of the desire demon kept prancing across my mind. The ghostly fingers of the reflection as they played across my skin. The gentle kiss of his lips along my neck. The more it played in my mind, the more I hungered to know what it would feel like to have the _real _Lavellan touch me like that.

Solas strode to the table and got his attention before leading him off to talk privately. I frowned and tore my eyes away as they vanished into the snow together, fixing my gaze instead on the fire that danced in front of me. I doubted Solas had any interest in Lavellan; the man was more prudish than a chantry mother. Besides that, Lavellan seemed to dislike Solas, always avoiding the other elven mage if he'd needed to talk to me or visit the apothecary.

"How are you holding up, Sparkler?" Varric asked as he sidled up to me and offered a bottle of brandy my way.

I took it gratefully and helped myself to a generous swig before handing it back. "I'd hold up better if I knew where we were… or where we're going. I'll settle for that much."

"Mm," Varric frowned as he took a seat next to me. "You and me both." He glanced over his shoulder to the place where Lavellan and Solas had vanished into the snow. "Glad he's back though. Honestly didn't think he'd walk out of that one."

"Don't remind me…please." I frowned into the campfire, holding up my hands to warm myself.

Varric gave a small, knowing smile. "You like him."

I laughed a little louder than was necessary. "Don't be ridiculous-"

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Sparkler." Varric cut me off, taking another swig of brandy and offering it back.

I heaved a sigh and took the bottle. "Nothing escapes your notice, does it, Varric?"

"I've written enough cheesy romance to see where this is going." He answered with a shrug. "Just because the Herald's been too busy to notice, doesn't mean I haven't."

"I didn't think I was that obvious." I took a gulp of the brandy and savoured the burn as it went down. "Does anyone else know?" I asked.

Varric scoffed and shook his head. "Luckily for you everyone else has been too busy too." He winked at me as he took back his emptying bottle. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"Thank you."

The sight of Solas and Lavellan re-joining the camp caught the corner of my eye and I looked over again. Lavellan marched over to the table where Cassandra had the maps spread out and, taking a sword piece from among the markers he set it upon the map. He pointed at it emphatically, then turned from the table towards where Varric and I were sitting.

I looked away before he could catch my gaze and cringed inwardly. Varric was right, I _was_ being obvious. If I kept this up, Varric wouldn't need to spill my secret for everyone to know. 'Pull your socks up, Dorian old boy.' I told myself. 'You're better than some blushing apprentice.'

I heard the snow crunch as he approached. "I see you found the brandy, Varric."

The dwarf lifted the bottle, handing Lavellan what was left and watching him down the dregs with an almost wistful gaze in his eye. "Better?" he asked, taking the empty bottle back and tossing it aside.

Lavellan slammed a fist into his own chest a few times, then sat on the bench right beside me, shuffling about until he was comfortable, then tossing his long white hair back over his shoulder. "I'll feel better when we get out of this mess."

Varric chuckled and glanced up at me with mischievous eyes. "Dorian was just saying the same thing."

"Urgh," Lavellan frowned and tucked a rogue lock of hair back behind his pointed ear. "I'm sorry to have gotten you into this, Dorian." He kept his eyes fixed on the campfire. "Gods' only know what you must think of me, fumbling around like this… almost getting everyone killed."

I arched an eyebrow at him, feeling almost insulted by his own self-flagellation. "You just faced of an Archdemon, a supposed darkspawn magister, and his army of mutated Templars… and you think you _failed_? Failed _me_ of all people? What the hell was in that brandy?"

He smiled up at me, his ruby eyes soft and appreciative. It made my heart soar, though I refused to let it show. I just returned the smile best I could… weary as I was. It seemed to be a common theme in the camp, even after all the unifying singing of chantry hymns. The fade was already beckoning me, and from the slump of Lavellan's shoulders, it called him too.

He fell suddenly, his head coming to rest against my shoulder. For a fleeting moment I thought he'd passed out, that the brandy really was the last straw for his exhaustion. Then, as he curled his arms around mine and nuzzled against me, I thought instead that I'd been the one to pass out and I was again confronted with the desire demon. Something of my shock must had shown in my expression because Varric chuckled as he procured another bottle of alcoholic something from under his stool. "My mistake, Sparkler… guess he _did_ notice something after all."

I glanced down at Lavellan, but the elf was resting his eyes. I had no idea if he knew what Varric was hinting at or not, but either way he seemed disinclined to comment, apparently comfortable resting himself against my arm.

"Er… Lavellan-"

"Bastian," he corrected me.

"Excuse me?"

He kept his head on my shoulder but glanced up at me, another small smile on those sinful lips. "My name, Dorian… it's Bastian. Calling me 'Lavellan' all the time, it'd be like calling you 'Minrathous'."

"I… hadn't considered that," I admitted. "I'm… not overly familiar with the Dalish, I had assumed 'Lavellan' was your name."

He chuckled and shifted closer to me so that he could lean against me more comfortably. "It's my clan's name… my home's name."

"I see. Are you… quite comfortable there?" I asked, "You're sure you wouldn't rather find a bed to sleep on?"

He rested his eyes again as his smile widened a fraction. "You're warm… and you smell nice."

"I… smell nice? After battling Templars and hiking through the mountains? Well… that is an achievement worthy of recognition I suppose," I teased him. I couldn't help it. He was _teaseable_, something about his usually lively nature I supposed. Or maybe it was that gentle smile.

He chuckled against my arm. "It's not that, there's something 'woodsy' on your clothes… I've always noticed it when I'm around you. It smells of home."

"Ah… it's a pine oil from the edges of the Planasene Forest," I told him. "My father often had it imported for me… before I left."

He smiled again, his grip on my arm tightening. "Mm, that's it. My clan usually camped around there during the summer." He yawned sleepily. "The tree's offered shade from the sun."

I ignored Varric's stifled laughter, but couldn't stop a fond smile of my own creeping onto my face. "Well… I'm glad to be of assistance… Bastian." I glanced up over his head, instinctively checking to make sure no one was watching us too closely. A habit picked up from home. My gaze glanced over most but settled as it was caught by Revered Mother Giselle. She was watching from her perch by the beds of the wounded, the barest hint of a disapproving frown on her face. I turned away from her and tried not to care, to simply enjoy the feel of Lavellan… Bastian… curled up against my shoulder. _He_ trusted me at least, and that mattered so much more.

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><p><strong>Feedback is always appreciated, and I thrive on constructive crit... just sayin' ;) <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Holy crap! So many likers / followers! Even got some feedback! You guys are awesome, thank you. :D As a warning I **_**suppose**_** there could be vague elements of non-con in this chapter… I'm not exactly certain what levels need what warnings so I figure better safe than sorry.**

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><p><strong>TWO – Desire<strong>

Books, books… so many books. The Inquisition had received a small mountain of them; mostly gifts from supporters, but also tomes and documents found on the road by agents, plus, of course, everything the Inquisition ordered for themselves. Being not only devilishly handsome but also relatively more literate than most others in Skyhold, I, of course, was stuck organising the library. Not that I particularly minded that. I liked books, and it was certainly a better task than hauling armour around or helping with re-tiling the roof of the keep… it was simply a large job. Whenever I thought I was about done, Lilianna's runners would appear with armfuls more. Then I'd have to rearrange everything, practically starting again… Maker. At least I had a good view. The single window looked out over Skyhold's courtyard and every now and again I would see Lavellan hopping over the main wall to the courtyard below – because apparently the Inquisitor had never heard of 'stairs'.

He was fascinating to watch. He moved faster alone than he did when we were gallivanting around the countryside. He must be slowing his steps for us poor humans, I realised.

I had smirked to myself when he jumped up onto the wall and walked along it as he spoke to Cullen, pointing out weaknesses in the outer defences. It reminded me of when I'd first been included in his little adventuring company. We'd gone to the Storm Coast and I had marvelled over how he had so easily scouted the cliffs, jumping from rock to rock with bewitching grace. He went ahead of us a little way, finding the paths the rest of us could safely take… since none of us could move across the coast quite as he did.

It was the first time I really _noticed_ how incredibly fascinating he was. It had to be a Dalish thing. Even now, in the safety of Skyhold -perhaps especially because it was Skyhold- Lavellan would find amusing and impressive 'short cuts'; sometimes startling his people half to death with his daring. Just yesterday, Cassandra had stormed all over Skyhold looking for Lavellan, she even came up to the library to accuse _me_ of hiding him… eventually she'd found the man napping on the tavern roof with Sera. The _roof_! Who does that?!

I couldn't understand why Cassandra was so paranoid. Lavellan was hardly the type to shirk his duties. Despite not asking for the position of Inquisitor, it was obvious he took it incredibly seriously. When he wasn't inspecting outer defences with Cullen he was plotting with Lilianna upstairs, or strolling through the courtyards with Josephine. He'd gone to great lengths to make Skyhold defensible. He'd secured the supply lines that bought in food and medicine within twenty four hours of arriving, and, every evening, without fail, I would watch him cross the courtyard to the medical tents to lend his magical talents to Surgeon… and that was after checking in on each and every member of his inner circle to ensure we wanted for nothing. He truly was a marvel.

It had grown late, the candles flickering as they burned low. I squinted at the title of a book for a full two minutes before realising it was written in a form of dwarfish that I couldn't understand. I heaved a sigh and set it aside, making a mental note to ask Varric about it in the morning. Did the old surfacer even read old dwarfish? I wasn't sure. I picked up the next book and glanced at the cover. The text was swimming across the leather.

"Maybe you should get some sleep?" A gentle suggestion, the smooth tenor of the voice soothing. I smiled, not needing to turn around to see who it was.

I deduced the book was elven and filed it along with the other elven tomes. "Inquisitor… I'd have thought even you would be tucked up in bed by now. I hear Josephine spared no expense on your quarters." I glanced over my shoulder to find him leaning against the wooden balcony, smiling a very slightly mischievous smile at me. He was wearing his tunic set, the caramel coloured one with the silver adornments. It was sleek against his body, not quite tight, but considerably less bulky than the enchanter's coat I usually saw him wearing. "It'd be a shame to waste that bed, don't you think?" I mused, smiling something mischievous of my own.

"It's rather a bit bigger than I'm used to," he lamented, pushing himself back onto his feet and taking a few graceful steps towards me. "Lonely… I think." He came to stand right beside me, so close that I could _feel_ the heat of him. His smile turned into something like concern and he raised a hand to brush along my jaw. The touch set little butterflies twirling in my chest. "Seems I'm not the only one struggling to sleep," he said softly. "Maybe we can help each other out with that?" He ran his hand from my face down my front, his eyes fixing on the fastenings of my robe before glancing back up at me through dark lashes, his ruby eyes glinting with promising temptation.

Realisation dawned on me and I rolled my eyes at myself. I turned my gaze back to the books, the butterflies dying as quickly as they'd been born and plummeting to my stomach. "Oh, you're _him_." I threw down the books I had left in my hand and shrugged off his touch. "How long have I been asleep, I wonder?" I shook my head. "Seems I can't get away from these damn books! Wasting good dream time cataloguing… tut tut. I can think of a hundred better things I could be dreaming about." I turned and flopped down into my chair, glaring at the bookshelves, refusing to look at _him_… not directly at least. I did watch him out of the corner of my eye though. How could I not, the way he moved his hips as he sidled over was criminal.

"Me, for example?" He arrived at the chair, and, before I could even blink let along move to stop him, he'd thrown his legs over mine, trapping me as he straddled my knees and made himself comfortable on my lap. Those damn butterflies were back, and this time they were threatening to choke me. I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was. Honestly I shouldn't even have dared to sit in the chair. It was an amateur mistake. I'd met a few desire demons in my days, but I'd never yet met one with any sense of personal boundaries. The prospect of trapping me like this, entirely at his mercy, was far too tempting… not that desire demons ever bothered to try resisting temptation.

He continued his assault, his elbows coming to rest on my shoulders as his lithe hands moving to tangle into my hair. The little devil sunk as close to me as he could get, even wriggling his hips against mine to 'get comfy'. I froze, the sensation far more tantalising than I cared to admit. I employed every mental discipline I could remember to try and block him out, to _not_ feel his warmth… the delicious friction… to not get lost in those mischievous ruby eyes. Maker preserve me… the mirror was getting better… more convincing… harder to _disbelieve_. I made a mental note to start practising my old willpower meditations as soon as I woke up… of course, that didn't really help me out of my current predicament.

"You're tired, Dorian," he whispered to me, one of his hands combing through my locks while the other kept an almost painful grip. "Sleep with me… no one would blame you, not after Haven… not after all your hard work." He pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, missing the corner of my mouth by less than an inch. "Just one night… I'll help you work out stresses you didn't know you had and tomorrow…" he smirked, his tongue darting out to taste my lips. "… you can go back to cataloguing books."

"Or rather, _you'll_ catalogue the books," I grumbled, "Wearing my handsome face." I shook my head defiantly. "No, I'm sorry, I just wouldn't suit you."

"Are you sure?"

My eyes widened in shock. As he spoke his face and body rippled. The weight on me shifted to something heavier. In another moment… I was gazing at my own face. The demon smirked at me, the corner of his mouth lifting just as mine did when I was amused. Insufferable!

"I think I'd make a rather dashing you."

I arched an eyebrow, refusing to allow the demon to see how unnerved I was. "I don't sound like that… do I sound like that?"

"I don't sound like that," he mimicked. "Do I sound like that?" He laughed; a wild boisterous thing that rang in my ears.

I scowled up at him, but that only made him laugh harder. Another ripple, another moment, and it was Lavellan back in my lap, smirking at me.

"Oh come on, Dorian, it was just a bit of fun. Lighten up, enjoy yourself. You deserve it." He rolled his hips against mine again and I let out a strangled moan as my treacherous body began to respond to the illusion. "What are dreams for…?" he cooed in my ear, his tongue running along the shell and sending shocks of pleasure down my spine, "if not to have what you shouldn't touch?" He sat up, freeing his hands from my hair just to run them down his own chest, his fingers flicking opening the fastenings of his tunic… one torturous button at a time. "You can touch me, Dorian. I want you to… I _need_ you to." I was hypnotised as a slither of that sun-stained, tattooed skin was bared to my eyes, the gap in his shirt slowly widening as the tunic came undone. "Put your hands on me… feel me…" Another roll of his hips had some very physical evidence of my desire pressing against him. He glanced down at me, his smirk turning smug, his eyes glinting triumphantly. "There's a good boy," he purred, one hand running over my hair and down my face as he ground his hips against mine with more fervency. I swallowed, trying to push down the butterflies in my throat.

"Stop…" it wasn't a very convincing protest, even to my ears.

"Give in," he taunted. "Take me, Dorian… I'm offering myself to you. All my power… all my beauty… yours to have." He leaned down to kiss me but I turned my face away, even shut my eyes, refusing to look at him.

"No?" he continued, a laugh on his tone, "Hmm… perhaps I've misjudged you? Perhaps you're the type to prefers to be _taken_?" He was leaning against me now, pressing himself against my chest and murmuring right into my ear. "Shall I bend you over a table, Dorian? Should I whisper sweet filth in your ear as I fuck you within an inch of your life? As I show you dirty ecstasies you haven't even dared to dream of?" His hand was travelling down my chest, flicking open buttons, teasing my skin as he went. "Or perhaps you'd like to be on your knees, putting that wicked Tevinter tongue to good use?" He leaned forward and pressed his kisses to my exposed chest, one hot hand snaking inside the fabric of my opened clothes to toy with a nipple. "Would you like that?" he asked between kisses.

I sucked in a breath as his hot hand pinched painfully. The pain bought me back to myself, reminded me in that split second that _I_ was Dorian Pavus, an altus mage of Tevinter and this _demon_ dared to soil the image of someone I admired, exhibiting him, offering him like a cheap whore. I grabbed his wrist and yanked his touch from my body so suddenly that even he seemed surprised. I glared down at him, my arousal fast merging with my anger. "Not from _you_," I hissed. "Now _fuck off_!"

The seduction and sweetness drained from his face, leaving only malice to burn in ruby orbs. "Think carefully, Dorian," he warned. "I've been patient thus far… but even my patience has its limits. Refuse me now, and the next time we meet I might not play so fair."

"Play fair? This is you playing fair?" I cried, outraged.

"You don't want to cross me, Dorian," he growled, his eyes narrowing at me in spite. "I have bought far greater men to their knees on a _whim_. Just think what sweet madness I'll give you in _trying_!"

Electric energy crackled around my hand where I gripped his wrist, my fury manifested. The demon hissed in pain and I threw him back. "I am _not_ afraid of you."

He opened his mouth and shrieked at me, a wild ear splitting sound filled with anger and spite. I let go of his wrist to cover my ears, a whirlwind sweeping up to batter against me. I shut my eyes against it and felt the library shatter as I was unceremoniously ejected from the fade.

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><p>"Dorian? Dorian, are you alright? Wake up… you're dreaming." A gentle hand shaking my shoulder, a soft voice soothing after the scream that rattled my ear drums. I forced my eyes open and found myself gazing up at a worried pair of rubies.<p>

"Lavellan!"

He pursed his lips in momentary annoyance. "_Bastian_," he corrected.

I flopped back into the library chair, relief washing over me as the gentle hum of Bastian's magic assured me I'd returned to the real world. I smirked up at him, then inclined my head. "Inquisitor," I teased.

Bastian rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. He took a step back, giving me space to stretch out my stiff limbs. Sunlight was pouring in through the small window. Early morning dew was clinging to the glass.

"Have you been sleeping there all night?" Lavellan asked, his eyebrow arching in concern. "Josephine told me everyone had been found quarters-"

I waved a dismissive hand. "Oh I have quarters," I assured him. "I just fell asleep." I pushed myself onto my feet and stretched my back and neck. "Cataloguing books isn't exactly the most stimulating activity."

Bastian looked around the library in approval. "Well you've done a fine job."

"Still a few more to go," I gestured to the stacks still by my chair. "If I can find space that is. You might want to invest in a couple more book cases."

"I'll… bare that in mind," he promised with a bright smile.

"Good… right then…" I let my hands fall to my sides and looked him over in curiosity. He was magnificent as always, even this early in the morning. It had to still be early, the library was empty but for us, and I couldn't hear either Lilianna or Solas meandering about on the upper and lower levels. There was something off though… he wouldn't look me in the eye; instead he gazed at the floorboards, one hand scratching nervously at the back of his head. I put on hand on my hip and gave him a small frown. "Something the matter?" I asked. "You seem awfully distracted… and I'm not even the distraction this time. I'm almost offended!"

He looked up at me with another smile. "Don't worry, Dorian, you're plenty distracting." His smile fell into another concerned frown before I could really take that in, let alone come up with a witty and flirty response. "There's a letter you should see."

Ah, my opportunity. "Oo, a letter? Is it something naughty? Explicit love notes from a randy dowager, perhaps?" I winked at him, but it didn't bring his usual smile to his face. Instead I found myself matching his frown as I sensed the severity of the situation. "What is it?"

He pulled the parchment from his pocket and handed it to me. "From your father. Revered Mother Giselle wasn't sure I should tell you… she suggested doing as the letter asked and just luring you there – for your 'greater happiness'- but…" he shook his head, his brow furrowing as his frown deepened. "I couldn't… I wouldn't trick you like that."

I took the letter and read it over, my scowl turning darker with each ridiculous word. "'I know my son'?" I read aloud, unable to keep the bitterness from my tone. "What my father knows about me wouldn't be enough to fill a bloody eggcup!" I clenched my teeth behind my lips and glared at the paper incredulously. "'Family retainer', yes of course… more likely someone waiting to knock me over the head and drag me back to Tevinter before I shame the family any more than I already have." I scrunched the paper in my fist, desperately fighting the need to shout something obscene and blasphemous.

Bastian clasped his hands behind his back, still frowning as he watched me. "What do you want to do?"

I began to pace the small alcove, my irritation causing bile to rise up in my throat. I was angry… no… livid. The lingering anger from my latest confrontation with Lust did nothing for my nerves. I glanced up at Lavellan, still patiently waiting, giving me time to think it over, to work it out on my own. He'd probably go to Redcliff to meet this 'retainer' with me if I asked. That's the sort of wonderful person he was. Guilt mixed with my anger as I remembered how Lust had taunted me… how he had _aroused_ me. Lavellan… Bastian… offered me the kindest friendship; me, a Tevinter mage… and I repaid him by fooling around with demons that borrowed his smile because they knew it _did things_ to me.

I tore my gaze away from him and shook my head. I was a terrible person. I wondered what Lavellan would think of me if he knew about the demon that haunted my dreams, if he knew what shape it adopted. I wondered what he would think when he found out _why_ my family was so desperate to drag me home… when he found out why my father and I didn't see eye to eye. Southerners seemed to have a more relaxed attitude to sex, at least as far as I could tell. But I hadn't exactly investigated the matter, and Bastian was Dalish… I knew even less about his people and their attitudes. Fear jumped around in my chest… a bitter, probably foolish, anxiety that I couldn't shake. Those stupid fears that Lust had turned on me were all too real. What if he was as disgusted as my father? What if he laughed at me? Ridiculed me? It was silly… Lavellan had flirted with me, hadn't he? I'd _seen_ homosexual couples in Southern Thedas treated the same as any heterosexual couple… but I still couldn't shake that terrified voice in the back of my head. What if I'd misunderstood? What if I'd seen only what I wanted to see?

"Dorian?" Bastian poked me gently, his soft tone telling me I had the option of ignoring him another moment, if I needed it. I stilled my pacing and frowned at the crumpled parchment in my hand. "I'd… like to go to Redcliff," I said, finally looking up to meet concerned ruby eyes. "If only to send this 'retainer' back with instructions of exactly where my father can shove his concern."

He found that amusing. His ruby eyes twinkled even as he kept his face straight. He gave a short nod. "If that's what you want, I'll have the horses saddled right away."

"Right away?"

He raised an eyebrow. "No time like the present, is there? We can be in Redcliff by nightfall if we leave now."

I managed a weak smile for him and nodded in return. "Thank you."

I expected him to turn away, to head down the steps and leave me to prepare for the journey, but instead he took a step towards me, his gentle gaze scanning my face. "Are you… alright, Dorian?" he asked. "I know the letter isn't exactly what you wanted to hear but… before that… I don't know, you seem tired lately."

I scoffed to myself. Of course he'd notice. He was attentive like that. I buried the anger for my father, saving it for later when we arrived at Redcliff, but that left only my guilt as I looked at him. His compassion burned me, made the guilt's sting stronger. I had to deal with this 'lust demon'. I couldn't let it pollute my friendship with him. So few people here in the South would give me the time of day… the damn blacksmith had _spat_ at me when I'd gone to see him for outfitting. Bastian deserved better. I pulled my smile back on. It was fake, and for a moment, as his brow quirked, I feared he could see right through it.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Nothing I can't handle."

He reached out, his hand clasping my shoulder. His skin was _cool_, not like the hot touch of the demon. It was soothing to the ghostly burn Lust had left there. "If you need anything, Dorian… you need only ask."

"That's the trouble," I sighed, getting lost in his gentle eyes. "Asking is a lot harder than it should be."

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><p><strong>AN: I have tried my hand at a little fanart. (Cover image was done by yours truly) as you can see I'm not a fabulous artist but I get by. If you fancy checking out my illustration for this story you can find it on my Facebook and DeviantArt pages, (Dixie990 for both) If you like my writing style, I write A LOT of original works, some of which you can find on fictionpress, again, same username ;) If you decide to look me up there, however, please be aware that some of my stories really aren't for sensitive readers (My vampire's actually bite). That is all… cats rule!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Apologies for the delay in uploading this chapter, I've been stupidly busy preparing my novel, Fledgling, for Amazon Kindle. But on that note, I am now proud to announce that it is **_**finally**_** available as an ebook should anyone be interested in giving it a whirl. :D (Yay!) This next chapter is somewhat longer than the previous two and hopefully, with Fledgling finished, I should have a little more time on my hands for the lovely Dorian. (She says hopefully!) As always, thanks so much for the favourites, following and reviews, it's all much appreciated. :D**

**OH! And on another note, it seems there was one reader out there that was 'concerned' that Bastian looks too anime. That was not the intention. If anyone else is even remotely curious (though I'm not sure why exactly it's so important) I envisioned Bastian Lavellan to look somewhat like Harry Lloyd in his role as Viserys Targaryen from Game of Thrones. I haven't actually watched or read Game of Thrones fully, so it really was only the image that inspired me. *shrug* google it if you like, I found him pretty delicious, despite his being a bad guy… or maybe because he was a bad guy… hmm…. LOL**

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><p><strong>THREE – Kiss<strong>

It was eerily quiet around the small campfire, the flames crackling, the smoke rising into the perfectly clear night. Bastian sat on the other side, his legs crossed, his ruby eyes glinting in the flames. He'd slipped off his boots, his bare feet resting over the top of his enchanters coat. He had a piece of wood in his hands and was using a small knife to carve a pattern into it, his head cocking from one side to the other as he focused on his task. Beautiful as ever… but the silence between us was heavy and unnatural.

I lifted the bottle in my hands, a cheap Fereldan beer that I was loathed to admit had a warm, almost comforting kick to it. I glared at it a moment then knocked back another mouthful.

Redcliff had been a disaster. If I'd known it was my father waiting for me at that damn tavern, I would never have gone. I certainly would never have bought Bastian with me, of all people. Parents are supposed to embarrass their children, I know, but what transpired was a shameful spectacle. My father had all but accused Bastian of taking me away from him. 'I should have known that's what this was about,' he'd said in that dark, disapproving tone. Credit where credit is due, Bastian bore it well, even under my father's scrutiny and accusation, even as we bickered like children. He stood quietly by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression hard and unreadable. He'd wanted to leave, to let us talk it out alone, but I'd asked him to stay… no… I'd demanded it. That was when the same awkwardness that polluted my relationship with my once beloved father infected the brittle friendship I'd built with Lavellan.

He'd waited patiently, witnessing as I'd asked, barely saying more than was necessary. He wanted to leave; I could _hear_ it in his magic, the frantic irritation just below the surface. But selfishly, I kept him there, even as it escalated. I wanted his approval, I suppose. I'd wanted him to share in my outrage… the one friend I'd made since leaving home. Or maybe I just wanted him to know for certain. Maybe I hoped he might realise something of what he meant to me… hoped he might understand how his beauty tormented me. But as the confession fell from my lips, my heart leaping in my chest, - 'I prefer the company of men'- Bastian only stared at me blankly, his ruby eyes empty, his expression still hard. So we'd left, not giving my father a moment to speak… not that he could possibly have had anything to say that I would want to hear.

We'd left Redcliff at a gallop but couldn't make it to Skyhold before rest was needed. So we'd made a small camp on the edge of the Hinterlands, nestled in a small woodland. Bastian and I had spoken barely more than a word to each other. The ugly, painful awkwardness only grew as we ate and now, as the night stretched on, it was almost unbearable. Had Lust been right? Was I barking up the wrong tree, so to speak? Had I hoped to see flirtation in Bastian when really there was only friendship? Did he… _disapprove_ the way my father did? As the dark thoughts pooled in my mind, suddenly Lust's dirty bargains didn't seem like such a bad idea. If the fade was truly the only place I could feel this way for someone, without the ridicule and hatred… if I could be happy for just a moment… I shook my head to myself and took another mouthful of the beer. What depths had this elf-man taken me to? That _I_ would even consider a demon's offer? I rubbed my hand over my forehead as a cold shudder of a realisation ran down my spine. Maker help me… I was turning into my father… desperate enough to take an absurd risk in the name of happiness. I needed to get on top of this pathetic obsession!

'On top of' might have been the wrong choice of words, the thought conjuring all kinds of naughty imagery. I glared at the beer in my hand and silently blamed it for the heat now coursing through my veins. I caught the reflection of the campfire in the glass; the snapping, crackling, deadly flames. For just a moment, I swear I saw a pair of sensual red eyes gazing at me… beckoning me.

A leap of fright jolted through my chest and I dropped the bottle in alarm, the beer spilling out over the grass. "Shit!" I cursed, snatching up the now almost empty bottle and rolling away from the seeping spill so as not to stain my coat.

Bastian looked up from his carving and gazed at me through the fire. "Alright?" he asked.

I glanced at him, meeting his gentle gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, just dropped my drink everywhere. It's a wicked waste," I lamented.

"Hmm," Bastian got to his feet and meandered over to his pack, rummaging around for a moment. "Well, Varric did give me this before we left this morning. He seemed to think we might need it for some reason." He pulled a tall brown bottle from the bag and tossed it towards me.

I caught it with nimble hands and read over the label. Dwarven brandy, the good stuff. I smiled in fondness and made a mental note to thank Varric once we got back. "Nothing gets past him, does it?"

Bastian smiled as he retook his seat on the grass and picked up his carving again. "If ever Lilianna quits the Inquisition…" he mused with half a smile.

I scoffed. "Lilianna? Quit? Pfft." I shook my head in disbelief. "Nothing short of being offered the sunburst throne would take _her_ from the Inquisition!"

Bastian looked thoughtfully into the campfire for a moment then shrugged, "There's a hole in the sky, an ancient dark spawn magister in the loose, not to mention his army of mutated Templars… I think it's safe to say that stranger things have happened."

I uncorked the brandy and sniffed at the rich aroma. "True," I agreed. Then, holding the bottle up I added. "Did you want any of this? If so, you best go first, I'm about ready to drink myself into a stupor… it's been that sort of a day."

He gave a charming sort of half smile and waved me off. "Enjoy it," he encouraged. "One of us should keep a clear head for the ride home tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, lifting the bottle to my lips. I took a long drink, the burn of the alcohol soothing in its venomous way. I made a point of sticking the cork back into the top of the bottle while I let it rest in my hand. Fereldan beer was one thing, but to waste Varric's brandy would be bordering on heresy, I was sure. I looked over to Bastian and found he'd gone back to his carving, the silence threatening to fall once again. No… no I had to try and salvage this, at least while I was still relatively sober. I glanced back at the bottle as I spoke, too nervous to meet his eyes. "Thank you for taking me out there," I said tentatively. "It wasn't what I'd expected, and I'm sorry that you were dragged in at all but-"

"I'm not." He looked up from his work, his gaze oddly sharp and his eyes glinting in the firelight. "I'm not sorry for being dragged in, I mean," he corrected himself. "I'm glad I was there to stand with you… even if I wasn't much help." He looked back at his carving, his brow furrowing.

Little stabbing harlequins had begun to dance in my stomach, raising the last dregs of hope.

"I didn't really know what to say," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on the wood in his hands. "I was surprised… I thought humans didn't much care about sexual preferences, but to be honest I rarely ventured beyond the Free Marches before coming to the Inquisition."

"It's a Tevinter thing… I think," I said carefully, the dance of those harlequins only becoming more chaotic with each gentle word he spoke. "From what I can tell, Southern Thedas doesn't really care one way or the other. I always found it rather ironic, personally, that a nation as corrupt and 'deviant' with its magic and politics could have such an issue with such a silly thing."

He nodded his agreement as he brushed splinters from his lap.

I hesitated a moment, then, with another swig from the brandy I dared to ask, "What about the Dalish? Does it bother your people?" '_Does it bother you?_' I wanted to ask.

He hands stilled his carving, but didn't look up for a long second. In that moment, I wondered if maybe I'd accidently spoken my real question out loud… or if Bastian was simply very perceptive. Whatever it was… he'd _heard_ me. Finally he glanced up and gazed at me through the fire. "The Dalish aren't concerned with homosexuality, no." He tilted his head a little, his brows knitting together as something very miserable… and painfully familiar... crossed his features. "But… they take issue with other things." He looked back at his carving. "A lot of the Dalish are very arrogant, they think themselves above others… they, the fallen elves, the last of a great and wondrous heritage… but that arrogance blinds them to many things. Makes them… small… narrow minded."

"Oh?" I pressed, the flash of familiar pain in his eyes drawing out my insatiable curiosity. I knew so little about him… about his people… I _hungered_ to understand him.

He heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his hands into his lap, though he still wouldn't meet my gaze. "There is… there's still a great stigma attached to enjoying the company of other races… human's in particular," he stated quickly. "It's not forbidden or anything and some clans respond worse than others, but… it's still _shameful_ to find humans attractive."

Oh. _Oh_. "A… _racial_ prejudice?" I clarified, some semblance of understanding coming to me. Was this why his flirtations were so vague that I could mistake them for mere friendship?

Bastian nodded. "No one cared that I preferred male company; that was perfectly acceptable." My heart leapt in my chest at his casual confession. "But one autumn we camped in the woods close to a small farming village. When Daris found me in the stables with a human stable boy…" He shook his head that pain twisting deeper on his features. "… my best friend."

"It… didn't go well, I take it?" I asked gently, giving him the option to shrug the question off if it was too personal.

But Bastian looked up from his carving and I was struck silent by the look in those dark eyes. A misery, an agony… but also anger, the likes of which I didn't think our gentle Inquisitor was capable of. The flames of the campfire snapped and cracked a little higher while the song of Bastian's magic hummed a little louder and wilder in my ears. "Daris put an arrow between Steven's eyes… right there where we lay. He told me I'd shamed myself… sold myself _cheap_… dirtied myself." He broke off and looked away for a moment before shaking his head going back to his carving, attacking the wood with a stronger vehemence. "I never forgave him. I couldn't. Not that he ever wanted me to. He refused to even look at me again. He'd been my closest companion since boyhood. I admired him. I _loved_ him…" he shook his head again and lifted the carving to blow at it, knocking away the wood dust. "So… no… your preference for men doesn't bother me, Dorian… and I understand why you can't forgive your father for what he did. Gods knows I wouldn't. The idea that your father would use blood magic to try and _change_ you is as insane to me as the prejudices of my own people. Besides…" he set the carving down and sheathed his little knife before finding my eyes through the campfire again. "You're perfect the way you are. I'm sorry that your family doesn't see that."

I was silent for a long moment, taking in what he'd told me, what he'd shared with me. So personal a story… was it a vain hope to think that his choosing to share it with me meant something? "I had no idea," I stated stupidly. My mind was buzzing, desperately searching for something more intelligent to say… to ask. In the end all I could do was smile at him. "Thank you," I added belatedly. "It's good to know that someone in the Inquisition sees me as more than that 'mage from Tevinter'."

Bastian chuckled and pushed himself onto his feet, the little carving still in his hand. He dusted off the remaining splinters from his coat then padded through the grass, still barefoot, to crouch beside me. He offered me the carving, a flash of his magic running over the wood and making it hum while his gentle smile sent a spark of life to my weary heart. "It's good to know that someone in the Inquisition sees me as more than 'the Herald of Andraste' or 'a savage Dalish'." He tilted his head but kept his intense gaze fixed on me. "I think… you and I have a lot more in common than we yet realise."

I took the little carving, the feel of the magic he had bestowed upon it buzzing along my arm, but didn't look at it, not yet. I was too hypnotised by those eyes. "I hope so," I purred with a smile of my own.

That I was a man that preferred men, that I was a _human_ man, didn't bother him. There weren't enough words in any known tongue to describe the euphoria that filled me, the _hope_ that rushed to heal the damage of my father's betrayal and trickery.

He sat himself in the grass beside me and my heart leapt all over again when he leaned his head against my shoulder, just as he'd done after Haven. 'Be calm, Dorian,' I told myself, 'Be cool… don't make a fuss.' I turned my attention to the carving even as he wove his lithe hands around my arm. I couldn't make out exactly what the shape was, but it seemed to be a figure in armour wreathed in beams of light and the branches of trees. The craftsmanship was intricate and beautiful, far beyond anything my clumsy hands could have created. I glanced down at him with fresh admiration... because clearly I didn't adore him enough already! "What is this?" I asked.

"Mythal," he replied, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "The elvhen goddess of protection… among other things." He glanced up at me. "I know you don't believe in the elvhen gods, but, I hoped you might keep her with you… for my sake."

I looked back at the carving, wide eyed and stunned. "This… is for me?"

He nodded against my shoulder and closed his eyes sleepily.

"I… don't know what to say."

He shifted, trying to make himself more comfortable as he leaned against me. "You don't have to say anything, Dorian," he insisted. "Really, it's for my own piece of mind."

But there was something to say, I simply couldn't find the words, couldn't even conjure them to my mind. He wanted his gods to protect me. I set the brandy aside, suddenly feeling quite drunk enough, and turned the carving over and over in my hand, running my thumb over the intricate detail and treasuring the feel of his magic, the tribal hum that I could hear in my ears. "I don't know much about the Dalish," I admitted to him again. "What are your people like? Aside from the afore mentioned arrogance I mean."

He smiled into my shoulder. "Asking me what the Dalish are like is as fruitless as my asking you what humans are like," he pointed out. "I can give you a generalisation based on my own upbringing, but that's a very broad generalisation."

"Humour me," I pushed. "I promise not to paint all Dalish with the same brush, should I meet any others."

"Mm," he paused a long moment in thought. "Hardy, I suppose. Stubborn, almost to a fault, but loyal. We're more respectful of the earth and spirits, I think, or at least more aware of them."

"Ah! Is that why you keep Cole around?" I teased. "Lingering Dalish instinct?"

Bastian chuckled. "I like Cole. He's a good person… and he's fascinating."

"I agree," I mused with enthusiasm. "I'd love to find out how he came about. If I could see through his eyes for just a moment…"

The wind whipped through the trees with a sudden chill that made me shudder. Damn Southern weather. Bastian gestured towards the fire with his hand. I felt his magic snap out, stoking the flames and keeping them alive to warm us.

"Was if difficult being a mage among the Dalish?" I asked. "I know Southern Thedas is a bit funny about magic… Templars and all that."

"Actually the Dalish are very respectful of magic, again, generally speaking. We enjoy far more freedoms than circle mages. Our mages are watched over by our clans and our keepers and we learn old magic's that the circle has forgotten. Of course…" He frowned. "I was lucky enough to be needed by my clan." He shifted uncomfortably again and, with a leap of my heart, I dared to move my arm, to pull it from his grasp so that I could wrap it around his shoulders and draw him closer against my chest. He stilled a moment, but then shuffled in to relax against me. I could feel the tension in his firm shoulders draining out and watched as his eyes sank closed in calm contentment.

"You were 'needed'? What for?" I asked curiously.

Bastian opened one lazy eye and smiled at me. "To be the first of course. All Dalish keepers are mages. Their 'firsts' are their apprentices. I was taken on by our keeper when my magic manifested. I was six."

"So… you would have been a Keeper if you'd stayed with your clan?" I asked, stunned.

"Mm, eventually. It is what I was trained for."

"Why would your keeper send you to the conclave?" I asked in bemusement. "It sounds like quite the risk, surely?"

Bastian frowned again. "The Keeper and I… did not get on," he admitted. "That 'differing opinion' started it, my belief that the Dalish were too isolated... too proud. But when Daris told her about Steven… it got a lot worse very quickly."

"Oh…" I matched his frown, my heart sinking on his behalf. I could see where this story was going. "So she sent you to the conclave hoping what? That you'd be captured?"

Bastian shook his head wildly, his hair brushing against my chin as he moved. "Gods no! I doubt even she could possibly have foreseen this… Herald of Andraste thing being the outcome…" he shook his head again. "No, I think she'd hoped I would enjoy being among humans and the city elves so much that I'd decide to stay. In her own way, I suppose she was doing what she thought was best for me, that I'd be happier…" He reached up and ran his touch along my hand as it rested on his shoulder, idly playing with my fingers as he gazed at the fire. I wanted to touch him in return. I wanted to run my free hand through his hair, or lean forward to kiss him. But I dared not. I felt, perhaps foolishly, that I had coaxed some beautiful but wild creature to rest in my arms and one false move would send him bolting back into the woods.

"_Are_ you happier?" I asked tentatively.

He frowned at the flames, his brow crinkling. He was silent for a moment before answering. "I miss my clan," he told me. "Not all of them were like Daris. Many of them thought I'd be an excellent Keeper and… I wanted to be. I'd prepared my whole life for that, built my world around guarding my clan and doing what was best for them. I would never have forsaken my duty if I'd been given the choice."

A new heaviness settled on my heart. "So, you will go back then? After the Inquisition? After Corypheus?"

"No," he replied sullenly. "My keeper will have found a new first by now, and too many mages in one clan can be… difficult. I will always have friends among them, but there is no place for a 'former Inquisitor', not really. It would be dangerous to them for me to go back and I will be too changed. Besides…" He glanced up at me with a gentle smile. "I rather feel that the Inquisition is my clan now. They have entrusted their protection to me, they follow my guidance and direction…" he shrugged. "The title of 'Inquisitor' doesn't feel that different to 'Keeper'… not to me. I cannot simply abandon them any more than I would willingly leave Clan Lavellan."

"Well… that certainly explains your dedication," I mused, keeping my tone soft as I spoke to him. "I admired it, you know? You didn't expect to be made Inquisitor, but you took it in your stride… made it your title…" I smiled. "I certainly feel safer at Skyhold knowing that you are the one giving the orders."

He pulled away from me, the cold air hitting the place where he'd been resting and making me shiver in his absence. He shifted to kneel just in front of me, fixing me with a deep ruby gaze. "That… means more to me than you can know."

There was a very different kind of heaviness in the air between us now. I would have sworn I could hear his magic crackling with unspent emotion and wondered if he could hear the same in me. The urge, the _need_ to reach out and touch him was hot, demanding… and entirely irresistible. My hand stretched out, my heart racing against my ribs as my fingers brushed along his face, knocking back the thick locks of whitest hair. He didn't shy away from me, nor flinch as if I'd burned him. Instead he became perfectly still, not quite the encouragement I was looking for… but not a rejection either. Emboldened I leaned forward, closing the small distance between us, leaving him no doubt as to my intentions but giving him a moment's time to pull away, if he wanted.

He did not.

In another second, my lips were brushing against the same sinful ones that had haunted me from the moment I'd met him. A light, feather soft touch… a teasing taste. I caught a hint of sun on his skin, of earth tones that made me think of trees mixed with a little smoke from the campfire. It took another eternity of a second before he responded, before those soft lips began to move against my own, began to return the kiss that was both the most intimate I'd ever experienced… and the most chaste. Cool, lithe hands rested against my shoulder, and for a terrible moment I feared he meant to push me away… But he didn't, he just rested them there, still not sure himself if they were meant to pull me in or shove me off. I didn't give him the chance to think about it.

I kissed him again, a little deeper, a little hotter, my hand tangling into his hair as I gently grasped his head. He melted against me, melted to my talented touch. The thrill of prideful victory shot through me, even as my heart thundered. I was kissing him… Bastian… Lavellan… I was kissing him and he was kissing me. With a bold daring, I ran my tongue along his lower lip and, with a gasp of surprise, I was granted entry into his sweet mouth.

In my enthusiasm I wrapped my other arm around him, his carving still clutched in my hand, and drew him closer against me. The campfire burned, the night air was a chill on my back, his lips… heaven… and everywhere I could hear the music of his magic, the very one that the Lust demon had tried so hard to mimic for me. This was real… he was real.

I was so lost to him, so drowned in my passion that I didn't realise he was trying to break away until his hands shoved at my shoulders, knocking me back from him.

He sat back in the grass, his breath coming a little harder, a flush rising in his cheeks. His tongue darted out to lick his lips before his teeth drew in the lower and bit gently. Maker… I would have been happy to do that for him. My body _burned_ with the unspent desire as dark sensual fantasy's danced in and out of my mind. His eyes glanced up to find my face and searched my expression, his brow furrowing a little at whatever he found there.

I dug around my mind, begging it to function long enough for me to find something to fill the stretching silence. I couldn't read his expression, not one bit. Did he… like it? Could I touch him again? I found myself almost panicking, my heart racing for an entirely different reason. I'd never been so lost before. I was usually a master at reading people, potential lovers especially, but Bastian gave nothing away.

He found his senses before I found mine. A small smile came to his lips, I tiny reassurance in an ocean of doubt. "I think…" he said carefully. "I think we should get some sleep. I ought to get back to Skyhold as soon as I can tomorrow."

I cleared my throat and sat up properly. "Ah… yes, of course."

He got to his feet and turned away, heading towards the bedroll he'd laid out on the grass earlier.

I took the moment to gather myself, to try and smother the burning desire to go after him, to sweep him into another heated kiss… to pin him against the damn bedroll and... I frowned and shook the vivid fantasy from my mind. By the Maker and all the old gods no! I would not… I _could not_ ruin things now. He'd had enough, he made that abundantly clear. But even as I told myself this, I could hear Lust's taunting song. The memory of the demon upon my lap, running his lithe mirror hands over a perfect chest, begging me to take him, to _fuck_ him. A war had begun to rage in my head, passion against decency and respect… even rage, rage towards a demon that dared to sully this moment for me. Maker… what had happened to me? I was stronger than this! I was better than this! But I burned so hot it was almost painful. I could feel the demon hooking it's claws in, could feel it revelling in my need. I looked up only to find that my handsome companion had slipped the enchanters coat from his shoulders, his under-shirt rippling in the soft breeze of the night and pulling tight against the toned expanse of his back. I swallowed, my throat parched as if I were dying of thirst.

I straightened my coat and pushed myself to my feet. "There was a lake close by, wasn't there?" I asked, begging my voice to stay steady for just a moment longer.

Bastian glanced over his shoulder to me and gave a short nod. He gestured towards the treelines. "A few paces beyond those pines," he told me.

"Excellent." I smiled something dazzling at him. "It's been a long day, I could use the dip."

Bastian arched an eyebrow. "The water will be freezing."

I turned and headed towards the pines. "That's rather the idea," I muttered to myself.

"Pardon?"

I turned and walked backwards a few steps so that I could smile at him again. "Magic has all kinds of uses, my dear Inquisitor. Have you never used a heat spell on water before?"

He returned my smile. "Ah yes, of course. You'll be careful though? The woods aren't exactly the safest place for a bath, Dorian."

I held up the carving I still had in my hand. "I'll be perfectly safe," I promised. I gave him a final wink then turned and strolled as casually as I was able into the treeline.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: So despite saying that I hoped I'd have more time now that Fledgling was done… real life came along and smacked me on the head ('What? You thought this would be easy? – Noooo I was just hoping you wouldn't crush me to little bits and pieces – Sorry, can't be helped, real life likes to crush y'know!') :P Annyway, it's been too long since I last posted an update, so, apologies. As a peace offering there is a teeny tiny littttle bit of sexiness at the start of this chapter. Anyone who doesn't like that sort of thing…why the hell are you reading an 'M' rated fic titled 'of love and LUST'?**

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><p><strong>FOUR – Resolve<strong>

I let out a small, rather undignified whimper as I waded into the water. My skin prickled, a shudder ran down my spine and yet still it did nothing to sooth the inferno that coursed through my blood! I could _feel_ Lust's influence. The demon fed on the desires Bastian had inadvertently stoked with his 'sweeter than life itself' kiss, and increased them to an unbearable level.

I splashed the cold water over my face and rubbed it over the back of my neck. Maker save me from this torment! My skin _itched_… burning for the touch of cool, lithe hands. My lips tingled with the ghost of his sweet kiss. I waded over to a nestling of high rocks and leaned my back against the tallest, my eyes closing as I thought of him… of his beauty. I glanced towards the treeline where I could just make out the orange glow of our campfire. Would he have tucked himself into his bedroll by now?

A dirty fantasy flashed through my mind as I considered it. I saw myself slipping beneath his blankets like a snake, pinning him against the ground before he had a moment to wake. His ruby eyes would snap open, a look of shock and indigence on that beautiful face. But before he could say a word, I would capture those sinful lips, swallowing away any protest.

I turned towards the rocks, bracing my hands against the rough surface and bowing my head to gaze at the water as it lapped around my thighs. I tried to shoo away the unwanted thoughts but the images played on and I, shamefully, was a captive audience. I tried to remind myself that Bastian was my friend. The guilt would be unbearable… but the side of me that burned struggled to care. I needed…

He might protest at first, he might turn his head away, my name falling from his lips in a gasp of shock. I wouldn't let him think about it though… thinking was dangerous. Instead I'd distract him with sweet kisses to his neck. Pinning his wrists with one hand, my other would find its way under his shirt with gentle caresses. Maybe he'd gasp then? Soft little breaths to brush against my hair… teasing… enticing.

Another nervous glance to the treeline, a small war going in inside my head as my body demanded release. My hand inched up my leg towards my straining arousal. I'd never been ashamed of self-pleasure; I didn't see the point in shame for something that was so perfectly natural. But should Bastian's elvhen ears hear me, should he, for whatever reason, catch me as his name fell from my lips - alright, admittedly that thought gave me something of a thrill - still… It would be mortifying. Would I ever be able to look him in the eye again?

But my body had already made up my mind for me. I gripped my length and let out a sigh of relief as I began the motions of pleasuring myself. Quick, long movements that sent waves of cooling sensation through my body. This had to be quick, not that I had any hope of lasting under the circumstances. I thought of Bastian. I thought of the kiss we'd shared minutes before, of the hum of his magic, the feel of him pressed so close to me.

The fantasy I'd been nurturing took control. I saw him panting beneath me, his clothing stripped away, one leg wrapped tight around my waist and I… I was buried within him. I shut my eyes and let my breath come a little harder as I imagined how sweet he would feel, how his body might move against mine as his desire took control of him.

"Maker…" I whispered to the water, resting my flushed head against the cool rock and speeding my pace. I bit at my lower lip to keep myself from making a sound. The pleasure mounted, my fingers curling against the rock where I braced myself.

I imagined him lifting those panting lips to my neck, imagined his tongue darting out to run along my flushed skin. The fantasy engulfed me, all-consuming in its intensity. For just a moment I could no longer feel the frigid water or the rock beneath my bracing hand.

"Yes…ugh!"

"Harder!" A breathy, desperate moan whispered into my ear. "Please, Dorian… more!"

I drove into him, my hand seeking his lithe length and matching my furious pace. He surrendered completely, laying back in wanton abandonment, his legs spreading against the blankets to give us more space.

"Fuck me!" he gasped, his hands clawing at my arms. "I am yours. Dorian, I am…ugh!" He threw his head back, hair tousled against his blankets, his eyes shut tight as his flushed body was seized with tension. His pleasure rippled over me as I watched him come undone beneath my touch, his cry of release…symphonic.

I shut my eyes and clung to the image as it sent me over. I braced my shoulder against the rock and lifted my free hand to bite against as the euphoria coursed through me. I spilled against the stone, the vision of Bastian burning behind my eyes.

I stood upon shaking legs for a moment as the intensity began to ebb. With a sigh of relief I turned and slid my way down to sit engulfed in the now pleasant chill of the water, my head leaning against the rock as I gathered my wits.

"How… _magnificent_…" came a dark whisper in my ear. "How beautiful you are…"

I let out a sigh laced with shame as a figure, shimmering like a ghost, waded towards me. His lithe form and the burn of his malicious power were unmistakable.

"I should have known you would be involved," I lamented. "I suppose I can blame you for turning me into a horny apprentice then?"

He scoffed as he placed his ghostly form over my legs, sitting on my lap as he had the night in the library… but without a physical form he didn't even disturb the water. His presence was unnatural and made my skin prickle unpleasantly. "Hardly," he told me, running an echoing touch over my chest. "No… you did this all on your own, I just helped you along on that final stretch." He chuckled and pressed kisses to my cheek, his tone gleeful and triumphant. I didn't have the strength nor the will left to fight him, to shove him off my lap and into the water. Colour flushed to my cheeks and I shut my eyes as guilt became acid in my throat. "It was… delicious," Lust went on, taunting me in his way. "The power you possess… your passion… I shall be fed for weeks!"

I opened my eyes and glared at him, my brow furrowed. "I'm surprised you didn't just try to possess me."

"I could have… if I'd wanted," Lust remarked with the shrug of one strong shoulder. "But I like the thrill of the hunt… the foreplay… the humiliation and the shame. It's all part of what I am… part of Lust. You, so filled with it as you are, will provide me a great deal of amusement before I am done with you." He smiled, the mirror's expression not as beautiful as I remembered. Perhaps because my desires were spent? Or maybe because he'd somehow manifest outside of the fade? He leaned against me, his wicked tongue taking a moment to run along my moist neck before he went on. "Then… when you are mad with what you cannot have… a deranged beast drunk on your desire… then I will take you." His hand was brushing through my hair as ghostly hips rolled against me, trying to stir a reaction. But I was done; at least for the moment. I had nothing left to give him and he seemed to sense that. His expression pulled into a sultry pout I was sure I'd never see on the real Bastian's face. "Aww, did I tire you out, Dorian?"

That seemed to be the last straw. I felt my temper reach its breaking point and snap. I waved a hand through his ghostly face, trying to brush him away. "Oh be gone!" I spat. "You'll get nothing from me tonight!"

He laughed in my ear, even as his presence began to dissipate. "Oh… but I have had plenty from you already, Dorian… as you well know."

I shut my eyes as I was finally left alone and focused a moment on trying to rid myself of the burning guilt that still lingered in my throat. Bastian was my friend, I kept telling myself, I did him a great disservice festering in my desire of him and letting demons like Lust parade around wearing his face.

But desire is natural, another part of me insisted. Why should I be ashamed of admiring a man as powerful and as handsome as Bastian? I had never felt shame for my attractions before, despite my parents expecting me to. In fact I spent a good portion of my young adulthood fighting for the right to feel desire without shame. I was still fighting for that right it seemed. Still… why was it so shameful? Why was I sitting here feeling guilty for an attraction that was not only perfectly natural, but clearly somewhat returned? There had been kissing! Kissing between me and the Inquisitor! Why did I fall to Lust now as I'd never done before?

I wondered then how Lust had managed to manifest so boldly outside of the fade. The breach perhaps? Closed as it now was, rifts were still appearing here there and everywhere and as a mage I could sense that the lines between the fade and the real world were badly damaged… weakened significantly. Demons were able to manifest fully around the rifts themselves so I supposed it made sense that their influence over mages might be more potent generally speakin. I supposed that _would_ explain why Lust was able to keep so close to me, why he was able to taunt me and influence me so strongly even outside of the fade. But that didn't explain why I hadn't been able to throw him off.

Demons had never been much of a threat to me before. I was always aware of them, and I was always strong enough and confident enough to send even powerful ones running. I had plenty of experience with desire demons. Something about my personality drew them in, all of them pandering to my vanity or offering me the power to overcome the pressure of living up to my family's dreams and standards. A few had tried to coax my lusts before, but I'd always been able to dispatch those ones the fastest, so they stopped that tactic rather quickly. What made this instance so different? What made my lust for Bastian so much harder to overcome? I'd never felt a desire as compelling as this for anyone before.

I opened my eyes again and sighed into the chilling night air. My skin had begun to prickle again and any minute I'd start shivering. I washed myself off in the lake and pulled myself back onto heavy feet to wade towards the banks. Slowly I collected my clothes and dressed.

I felt the weight of Bastian's trinket against my leg and pulled it from my pocket to admire in the moonlight. It was beautiful. Just the sight of it had a jolt rushing through my chest. I remembered kissing him, the feel of his lips on mine, and already I was longing for another taste. Another sigh passed my lips and I felt my shoulders slump in a kind of defeat as I answered my own earlier question. This…what I was doing with the demon… it was shameful because of the power Lust had over me… shameful because I'd never lost control like this before. I felt guilty because Bastian was special. Because what I felt for him should be treated with respect… should be treasured… not used and abused in the throes of the passions Lust nurtured in me. I felt guilty because I was better than that. Because we were both of us better than that.

"Dorian?"

I was startled by his voice and tore my eyes away from the trinket to look up. Bastian had passed through the trees and was gazing at me with a cocked head. He was wearing just his thin under shirt and his breeches and folded his arms over his chest against the chill in the air. "Something you need Inquisitor?" I asked with a smile, pocketing the trinket again.

Bastian yawned and pushed back some of his hair. "You were taking your time… I thought I'd check you hadn't gone and drowned or something."

"Miss me would you?" I teased him, turning and striding over.

He gave a sleepy smile. "Something like that."

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><p>It was bliss. A miracle perhaps? Or maybe I'd died somewhere along the way and, through some mistake or another, found myself in the Maker's paradise?<p>

Chaste kisses stolen in the showiest corners of Skyhold were fast starting to smoulder and despite this, I hadn't seen hide nor hair of the damned Lust demon. Perhaps it was something about Bastian himself that kept the beast at bay? When he wasn't running around seeing to his Inquisitor-y business, he was with me. We spent time sitting together in the library reading dirty and comical novels, or critiquing the uniforms of his unfortunate soldiers (I mean really, orange and pale green? Had the designer been colour blind?) Or, my new favourite thing to do with Bastian – bar the kissing, of course – seeking out Cassandra and pretending we were talking about her. The indignant flush on her cheeks was beyond funny. The insecure uncertainty mixed with the confidence that we _had_ to be winding her up. I could _see_ the war going on behind her eyes every single time. It never got old!

Friendship with Bastian was sublime. The elf, it turned out, had as deep a mischievous streak as I did… deeper, if Sera's stories were to be believed. He needed the distraction from dealing with arch demons, ancient magisters and mutated Templars and I - as I was now fully prepared to admit - needed _him_. He never left me behind anymore. Any excursion beyond the safety of Skyhold walls and I was always the first to be called on. 'You make it bearable,' he would tell me with a wink, even as Varric scoffed into his sleeve.

'But do you _have_ to drag me through bogs and wastelands?' I would tease him. 'We never go anywhere _nice_.' Then he would laugh and give me that smile that told me my wit and humour had earned me another sneaky kiss later, when eyes weren't watching. I'd walk through a hundred bogs and set up home in the Hissing Wastes if it meant I could keep sneaking kisses with him. Dear Maker… I really _was_ turning into a randy apprentice.

I had actually caught myself humming… _humming_… as I combed through the library looking for any references to Corypheus. I shook my head to myself and stopped in time to hear soft footsteps coming up the stairs behind me. Not an unusual sound, but I didn't recognise the step so I glanced around habitually to check who it was. Mother Giselle. Assuming she couldn't possibly be coming to speak with the 'evil mage' I turned back to the books on the shelf, scanning over the volumes for any sign of Tevinter history not entirely corrupted by the opinions of the Southern Chantry. It seemed, however, today was not my lucky day.

"Ah… Dorian," the chantry Mother's thick accent sounded strange tangled around my name. "I don't suppose you could spare a moment to talk with me?"

I glanced around at her, not bothering to hide my surprise. "You? Want to talk to me?" I arched an eyebrow at her and shelved the useless tome I'd hopefully picked out. "Has my father sent you another 'concerned' letter?"

"He did write to me…" she admitted, folding her hands behind herself as she addressed me. "He was very disappointed that the feud between you could not be worked out in Redcliff. He hoped that I might be able to change your mind, persuade you to at least write to him-"

I scoffed. "That my father would ask _you_ of all people simply proves how little he knows of me."

"Is it not worth trying at least?" she asked. "We must mend old hurts to truly heal."

I frowned, the topic of conversation flaring up my irritation and putting me on edge. It wasn't something I enjoyed discussing even with Bastian; I certainly had no desire to discuss anything of my family with Mother Giselle of all people. "Perhaps it's because I'm Tevinter, but I rather like the idea of the old man squirming as he realises exactly what he's lost."

"Spite will get you nowhere," the woman preached. "It will only cause you more pain."

"Good job I have a strong constitution then," I grumbled, turning back to the bookshelf and hoping that would be the end of it. A stray thought crossed my mind, however, and I found myself scowling at the books a moment before turning back to the chantry Mother. "How is it that my father knew of you in the first place?" I asked, catching her off-guard with the sudden question. "Oh certainly he could enquire as to whom the Chantry representative at Skyhold is… but why would he? If he truly wanted to contact me, even without involving Bastian, he could far more easily have written to Josephine." My scowl deepened. "How would my family even _know_ I was working for the Inquisition? I certainly didn't tell them and I hadn't been in the company of the Inquisition very long when my father turned up in Redcliff… very few people this far south would even know who I am, fewer still would care…"

"You underestimate the people's awareness of who and what you are, sir," Mother Giselle retorted, a little alien irritation in her tone.

"Who… and 'what'? And 'what' am I that has the people so 'aware' of me?"

"You make no effort to hide your nationality-"

"And why should I?" I snapped. "Am I supposed to be ashamed of my country? Am I supposed to be ashamed of fighting against the Ventori openly, to try and salvage whatever shred of decency might be left in my people's reputation?"

"Of course not!" She retorted, her own emotions rising in her voice. "But your presence here, your undue influence-"

"'Undue influence'… now whatever could you mean by that?" I narrowed my eyes at her, infuriated, daring her to make the confession I already knew her guilty of. She didn't. She just glared right back at me, her dark eyes narrowing.

"I don't know what you think you are playing at-"

The last threads of my self-control were strained, the painful accusation in her tone far too similar to old wounds still healing from my life in Tevinter. The idea that I would have 'undue influence' over someone important… someone like Bastian… that I would be using that influence to further my own selfish goals… it stung me far deeper than I cared to allow her to see. "I'm being clucked at by a hen, obviously!" I snapped back.

"Don't play the fool with me, young man!" She barked, her eyes bulging in her anger.

"If I wanted to play the fool, I could be rather more convincing, I assure you!"

"Your glib tongue does you no credit!"

I narrowed my eyes at her, a dark smirk forming on my lips. "You'd be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, Your Reverence." I retorted, playing on her accusation and making her flush with scandalised indigence.

"What's going on here?"

In the heat of my exchange with Mother Giselle, I hadn't even noticed Bastian's approach. He'd climbed the stairs on silent elvhen feet. I felt a small fluttering of panic deep in my gut. Who knew how long he'd been standing there, listening in? It seemed the very same thought crossed over Mother Giselle. All her fury and spite drained from her face and she adopted an expression of polite embarrassment. "Oh! I…" She hadn't quite gathered enough composure to address the Inquisitor it seemed. A thrill of victory rushed over me, drowning whatever pangs of guilt and embarrassment I might have been feeling.

"It seems the Revered Mother is concerned about my 'undue influence' over you," I helpfully informed him.

Bastian arched an eyebrow at me, his eyes clouding with confusion, confusion that he turned on the Revered Mother, waiting for her explanation.

"It _i_sjust concern," she insisted, a little of her indigence clinging to her tone. "Your Worship, you must know how this looks…"

"You might need to spell it out, my dear." I insisted, trying and half failing to keep the venom out of my voice.

She heaved a sigh, but soldiered on. "This man is of Tevinter," she stated. "His presence at your side... the rumours alone-"

"What's wrong with him being from Tevinter, specifically?" Bastian asked genuinely, his head cocking to one side in that delightfully endearing way. I half wondered if he was deliberately putting Mother Giselle on the spot or if he was actually that naive. With Bastian… it was hard to tell. Growing up as a Dalish, away from the prejudices of humanity, I'd learned there was a great deal Bastian still didn't understand about humans; our cultures and ways…our… taboos.

"I'm well aware that not everyone from the Imperium is the same," Mother Giselle said carefully, apparently as unsure about Bastian's question as I was.

"How kind of you to notice," I retorted, folding my arms over my chest. "Yet still you bow to the opinion of the masses!"

"The opinion of the masses is based on centuries of evidence." Her words were clipped, short, her temper flaring underneath her veneer of chantry calm. "What would you have me tell them?"

"The truth?" I suggested.

"The truth is, I do not know you, and neither do they. Thus…" she turned back to Bastian, "these rumours will continue."

Bastian frowned at her, his understanding finally coming to his eyes. It was an understanding that seemed to ignite something unexpected in those ruby eyes. A flash like fire sparked into life, the intensity enough to give the Revered Mother pause. "The concerns of the Chantry are no concern of the Inquisition, Mother Giselle."

To her credit, she didn't back down. "I'm aware of that," she pleaded with him, continuing in a softer, less confrontational manner. "You risk…however… not only the chantry's opinion."

Bastian was losing his temper! I never thought I'd see the day. After Haven he'd been too weary to be angry. Even when we fought our foes in the field he did so with a calm, calculating approach. The closest I'd ever come to glimpsing his anger was Redcliff… confronting my father… and that, though passionate, had been steadfastly controlled under a mask of blank expression. This… this was more. His eyes blazed as he narrowed them at Giselle, his brow furrowing. He was furious with her! That anger made his magic buzz, made it fill the space in the air around him with wild, exotic energies. I could _hear_ the symphony that was his music and, as always, it got right into my head, made me dizzy with excitement. To see him like this… to feel his raw, _primal_, power burning so close… Maker preserve me… it was thrilling and beautiful… and not a little arousing.

"And if I were to ask where these rumours originated?" His tone failed to hide the note of accusation.

She gazed at him with as much patronising disappointment as was at the disposal of a Chantry Mother. "I…see," she relented. "I meant no… disrespect, Inquisitor. I meant only to ask after this man's intentions. If you feel he is without ulterior motive, then I humbly beg forgiveness of you both."

A thrill of smug victory shot through me, though it wasn't enough to entirely drown my lingering spite.

She gave a short bow to Bastian, then turned and left us. I watched her circle the balcony and begin climbing the stairs up to the next level. She went just out of sight… but then her shadow lingered. Of course it did.

"Are you alright?" The sound of Bastian's genuine concern tore my attention from the eavesdropper and back to the fiery splendour standing before me. "She didn't get to you, did she?" I caught worry, even a twinge of fear in him as he stood, twisting his fingers together and scanning my face for an answer.

"No," I assured him. "It takes more to get to me than thinly veiled accusations," I insisted in place of a smile. I was still seething… still too angry.

"You… don't think she'll do anything?"

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Do what? Yours is the only good opinion I care about…" I gazed at him a moment, then heaved a sigh. Perhaps it was better to address the Druffalo in the room, as they say. "I… don't know if you're aware," I began carefully, "but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are… intimate."

He blinked at me blankly, apparently needing a moment to digest this information. It was a long, tense, tormenting moment for me. As always, it was infuriatingly impossible to read what was going on in that head of his. Reassuringly, however, the fiery anger that he been bleeding into his expression just a moment before began to retract to burn behind his eyes. "That's… not the worst assumption they could have… is it?" Another note of wavering fear, another hint of uncertainty. Of course. With his history, that _would _frighten him. I thought about teasing him, thought about trying to lighten the mood, and the seriousness of his question, with a little idle flirtation. In the end, though, I decided against it. The risk that it would hurt him… it was too great. Instead I took his hands, stopping him from twisting his fingers together nervously, and stepped up to close the space between us. His eyes scanned my face, alarm coming to his expression as he realised my intent… but didn't push me away nor step back... onlookers be damned.

I captured his lips, tasting again the sweetness of them and feeling the soft tremble that ran over his skin as a result. I let go of one of his hands to tangle my fingers into his hair and deepen the kiss. His magic was still loud, still buzzing with the unspent emotion, anger fast turning to a different kind of passion… for both of us. The heat of it… the intensity of it. Oh Maker! I hadn't known two people could burn so sweetly. A fresh thrill rushed through me as his now freed had tangled into the front of my leathers to pull me closer against him. For the first time it was _his_ tongue that ran along my lip, begging for entry in a perfect mirror of how I assaulted his kisses when I hungered for something more and I, unable to deny him anything – not that I ever would – parted my lips for his entry. His exploration was tentative, still uncertain, and that alone was another thrill for me. Ultimately, however, a need for air forced us to part.

I loosened my grip on his hair and instead stroked it back over his shoulder. "The only good opinion I care for… is yours." I told him again.

He gave me a soft smile. "You realise this makes the rumours somewhat true?"

I arched an eyebrow at him. "They were already somewhat true," I pointed out. "But if you're uncertain…" I dropped my tone into a low purr laced with seduction, "perhaps we should explore the full truth of them later? In private?" I turned away from him as I spoke, smirking at the wide eyed expression left on his face. I'd have stayed longer… I wanted too… but I had a little unfinished business.

I sauntered towards the staircase to the next level, feeling Bastian's eyes fixed on me until I vanished around the corner. Mother Giselle was just a few steps above me, her chantry robes dragging against the stone as she retreated.

I skipped up the steps separating us and grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip. She opened her mouth to scream or protest, I couldn't be sure, but I didn't give her a chance. I covered her mouth with my hand and pinned her against the curved wall, glaring down at her with all the boiling rage and unspent passions that I had left. "I _know_ you contacted my family," I hissed at her. "I know you told them where to find me and I know that you told them about my 'involvement' with the Inquisitor. _You_ started these rumours and _you_ are the one feeding the masses lies about me." I squeezed her arm a little tighter to make my point, her eyes wide with fear as she gazed at me. "You're not the first person to try and get rid of me and I doubt you'll be the last but - and listen _very_ closely, my dear, because this is the important bit - if you do _anything_ to come between Bastian and me again, if you write one more letter to my father, I'll _show_ you why Tevinter mages are feared. Do you understand me?"

Her eyes narrowed at me, but there was understanding in them, acceptance even. My threat had hit its mark. I released her and threw myself back from her like she was something disgusting.

It seemed, however, that Mother Giselle had one last parting shot in her. "If I didn't know better," she hissed, "I'd say you pursued our Inquisitor like a man _possessed_."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Back again awesome readers! Another delicious chapter ahead. As a warning, there will be some more elements of non-con here as Lust starts to play dirty. ;)**

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><p><strong>FIVE – Influence<strong>

I spent a few good long minutes pacing my little corner of the library, trying to cool off. It irritated me all the more that Mother Giselle's cheap shot had somehow managed to get to me. I'd had all kinds of accusations thrown at me before, especially since coming south. I'd always shrugged them off, usually retorting with something witty or boisterous laugher. Not this time. Her venomous glare had set a hot poison burning through my blood, a fury, a rage bubbling just below the surface. Madness… it was madness. I was a man of passion, certainly, but the fires had _always_ been mine to control. Now… I rather felt that someone… or some-_thing_ was carefully winding strings around my heart, turning me, piece by wicked piece, into a dangerous puppet. Perhaps that was why the Revered Mother's words got to me? Because for the first time in my life… there was a ring of truth in them.

No! No, I was _not_ possessed. I hadn't felt Lust at all these last few weeks. I'd been sure that he'd finally abandoned his pursuit of an obviously unbreakable target and gone to bother some other unfortunate mage. No… I'd been the very picture of good behaviour these last weeks, the very picture of self-control. I shook my head to myself. The insecurities that had once plagued me - the only way Lust had managed to gain any grain of influence over me in the first place - were long since done away with. I could touch Bastian now. I could kiss him, hold him, run fingers through his snowy hair should I feel so inclined… and I often did. No… Lust had no power over me anymore. It was safe. We were safe. I could pursue the Inquisitor with no regrets.

I stopped my pacing as a mischievous smile found its place on my lips. Bastian would be back in his quarters by now… and I'd left him with something of a promise earlier. He wouldn't object, surely? Not after the heat of that kiss. He'd practically been practically begging me with the tease of that uncertain tongue. Maker… that kiss. I could still feel the ghost of it on my lips, could still feel his hair in my hand.

I turned and headed towards the stairs, my all too vivid imagination already carefully stripping away Bastian's clothes and spreading him out over the covers of his four poster bed. Would he object to having silk scarves binding his wrists to the posts, I wondered? The mouth-watering imagery sent a hot jolt from my chest to my belly as I crossed the practically empty keep to the small, almost hidden door that led to Bastian's tower. I glanced around the hall to be sure no one was watching, then slipped inside and began to climb the steps upwards. I paused at the upper door to give a short knock, then pressed it open and slipped inside without waiting for his reply.

He was standing by his bed, his tunic unbuttoned and half way off. I devoured the sight of his sun stained skin, more beautiful than the mirror of any Lust demon. His tattoos were bolder than the demon had painted them to be, the lines heavier and far more elaborate as they trailed down his chest and over his shoulders. He'd looked up as I reached the top of the inner stairs, his eyes wide and startled. "Dorian!"

I tutted at him, my smile teasing. "So surprised to see me? After that wicked kiss in the library earlier?" I approached him at a slow stroll as I spoke.

Bastian arched an eyebrow as he watched me. "'Wicked' wasn't exactly my intention, Lethallin."

I came to stand before him and gently rested my hands on his waist, the edge of my fingers brushing along the top of his hips. "Maker… You're a beautiful man, Inquisitor."

He gazed up at me, his ruby eyes glinting in the flickering candle light. "You're rather handsome yourself." He kept his voice low, a soft baritone that set off a quiver along my spine.

I leaned in and pressed a kiss against his forehead, my hands running up to his shoulders then sliding down his arms to remove his tunic completely. He let it fall, then rested his fingers against my chest, his brow furrowing as I kissed his cheek, his lips, his neck. He smelled of trees, fresh air, and that 'lyrium'-like scent that spoke of his magic… the very magic beating wildly in my ears with each shuddering breath he took.

"Dorian…" he sounded breathless and I smiled to myself, my hands already snaking around to run down his back. "Dorian." I frowned. He was less breathless this time… trying to get my attention it seemed. Reluctantly I lifted my lips from his skin to look at him properly.

His expression was twisted in a heavy frown, his eyes uncharacteristically hard. He reached around me to take my wrists and pull my hands from his body, then took a step back… took a step away from me. "What's this about, Dorian?" he asked, gazing up at me, still with that frown.

I gave a short scoff and pulled my wrists from his grip. "That's a remarkably silly question, Inquisitor," I teased. "Here I thought I was being obvious…" I reached towards him, brushing his hair through my fingers and gazing down at him with as much seduction as I could lace into my gaze. "It's all very nice this flirting business… I am, however… not a _nice_ man."

His expression was unchanging, and my attempts at seduction were met with that same steel gaze, the same furrow of his brow and, slowly… it began to look like a lot like disapproval. That gaze stung me more than I cared to admit, and far more than I cared to show. It made me think of Redcliff, the same hard gaze that he'd used to observe the spat with my father.

"And… the timing has nothing to do with your argument with Mother Giselle in the stairwell earlier?" Bastian asked, his tone firm, ringing like accusation in my ears.

I blinked at him in shock, even as he stepped away from my outreaching hand, tossing his hair over his shoulder and taking it from my caress. "You… heard that?"

He pointed to his large, knife-shaped ears. "Humans never seem to fully comprehend the extent of elven hearing."

I folded my arms over my chest and found myself matching his frown. "Well, I don't see what my disagreement with the Revered Mother has to do with anything." I dropped my arms from their folding and tried again to reach for him. "I'm here because I want to be with you…"

But Bastian turned away, ignoring my outstretched arms and taking a few steps towards his desk. He ran his lithe hand through his hair again and gazed at the carpet for a long minute before turning back. He was still frowning… He wouldn't meet my gaze as he spoke. "And by 'be with' you mean-"

"'Be with' as in sex, Bastian," I snapped, my passion fuelling a new irritation while sparking the return of all my former spite. This was turning out to be a very unlucky day. I admit… I felt a little cheated. _He_ had kissed _me_ hadn't he? He had teased me with those stolen moments and unspoken promises! What was so hard to understand? My arms had folded over my chest again and I gazed at him with a dark expression of my own. "Look, if this isn't going anywhere, just say so. I'm a big boy, I can take it." No I couldn't. I was lying through my teeth. The thought of him turning me away, rejecting me… _dumping_ me like yesterday's garbage made me feel sick to my stomach. Heat and fire coursed through me, stirring the nausea into the lingering rages still clinging to me from earlier.

Bastian's ruby eyes finally glanced at me and I caught the barest hint of an expression I'd never seen on him before. It was hiding behind his steel gaze and it was gone in another flash… but I'd seen it. He was frightened. Frightened?! Of me? Had he heard what Mother Giselle had said to me? Did he _believe_ her?

"Do we… need to move things this quickly?" he asked, his voice quivering just a little.

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Quickly? By my standards we've been positively chaste."

He turned towards his desk again and muttered under his breath, but I heard him nonetheless, my inferior human hearing not quite as bad as he seemed to think. "Those are cheap standards…"

"Well you would know all about 'cheap standards' now wouldn't you." The words were out of my mouth before I'd had a chance to think on them. I regretted them the moment they fell off my tongue. I saw Bastian stiffen, but he didn't turn, didn't trap me with those ruby eyes… so I went on… dooming myself. "Forgive me, Inquisitor, for my distinct lack of elvhen perfection."

He turned then, anger flashing in his dark ruby depths. "That's not what I meant and you know it!" he snapped in return, a long finger pointing at me accusingly.

"Do I?" I retorted. "You have been nothing but a tease, Lavellen! You have kept me on the knifes edge of bloody sanity from the moment I laid eyes on you, then have the nerve to call _my_ standards cheap! Maybe you're Dalish friend was right, hmm?"

I'd shocked the anger out of Bastian's expression. He gazed at me with wide eyes filled with both incredulity… and a sympathy so at odds with said incredulity that I was sure I'd misread him. I didn't understand him. I wasn't sure I wanted to anymore. I was hurt, both by his words and my own. The sting of this rejection ran far deeper than any other I'd faced before. I could almost feel my heart splitting in two, could almost feel it bleeding against my robes. I even glanced down, half expecting to see a crimson stain blossoming against the pale satin. I waved a dismissive hand as I turned away from him, refusing to let him see any of the distress that might slip into my angry expression.

"Dorian…" He called to me with a tinge of desperation on his tone. I heard him take a step towards me, but I was already making my way down the stairs. "Dorian!"

I slammed the door to his quarters behind me and quickened my step into a storm, my distress fast turning into humiliation… and rage. _My_ standards were cheap? I wasn't the one prancing around Skyhold like a prized harlot! Well… maybe a little… but I certainly never led anyone on… at least, not recently. Damn him! Damn him for being _right_! Damn him to the void and back just so that I could damn him there again! He was infuriating. Handsome, deadly, sharp as a razor and bloody infuriating! Why did he have to be so perceptive?

Maker preserve me, what had I done to deserve these _feelings_. I didn't do _feelings_, they were complicated and messy and they _hurt_, like a thousand of Sera's little arrows striking the heart one after the other. The bitter thoughts stewed in my head, burning and consuming me all the way to my quarters. What few people were still up, servants and guards mostly, gave me a wide berth and I half wondered if my signature flames were circling around my head with the frightened gazes they cast my way.

I slammed the door to my own quarters so hard the door almost fell off its hinges. It was a one of the smaller rooms above the Skyhold garden; simply furnished, not like the lavish luxury of Bastian's quarters. A bed to the right, a small desk across the room and a narrow square table to the left. My gaze fixed on the carving Bastian had given me, just laying against the latter innocently, the gentle hum of its magic now as torturous to me as it had once been soothing. In my rage I snatched it up and flung it across the room. The wood hit the stone of the back wall and broke, the sound of Bastian's magic going dead as the splinters fell with a clatter to the desk, lifeless and empty. It didn't make me feel better. In fact… it made me feel decidedly worse. I regretted breaking the damn trinket more than I regretted my harsh words to the man himself. It was the final straw for my heavy heart and I put a hand to my face, hiding my eyes as a pair of bitter tears fell over my cheeks. Damn him… damn him. Lust had been right all along.

I stumbled backwards until I hit the door, then slid down the cool slate of the ground, my hand still covering my face. Passionate though I was, I usually saved my tears for only special occasions… like babies and weddings… or fatherly betrayals. This… I shouldn't have been crying over this. Not over the damn Inquisitor. It only made me feel foolish, which, in turn, stoked my anger. I let my hand fall and took a few long breaths to steady the raging storm within. Then, after a moment of chastising myself for my folly, I pushed myself to my feet and began to undress for bed. Well… it was Bastian's loss then… wasn't it.

* * *

><p>"You're still barking up the wrong tree," I snapped. "More so now." I folded my arms over my chest and huffed, even as I leaned back against the golden couch in the splendorous palace I knew to be Lust's domain. Despite my words, I wasn't as inclined to get up and leave as perhaps I should have been.<p>

"You think so?" Lust asked, stepping out from behind the shimmering sheerness of a fluttering golden curtain. The mirror was perfected. Lust had corrected himself based on my new knowledge of the real Bastian. The tattoos, the exact shade and texture of his skin, even the expression in those ruby eyes had turned somewhat less mischievous and more demure.

"He called me cheap," I scoffed. "Me!" I rested my elbow against the arm of the couch and my cheek upon my fist, watching as the desire demon made his way across the hall towards me. He was clothed in a fine satin bed-robe, the belt knotted so loose at the front that it was already threatening to spill over his shoulders and pool on the floor. I could make out the shape of him beneath the sheer fabric, could just make out his nakedness.

"You are anything but cheap, Dorian," Lust assured me, arriving before me and folding himself to sit in the space next to me. "I would know… I've been bartering for weeks…" He reached over and ran his heated fingers over my face and into my hair. I found myself burning under his touch, all the rage, all the unspent passion rising within like a wave to his siren's call.

"No…" I said with a defeated sigh. "He's right. My standards are cheap. I jump into bed with any man half good looking because I've learned to take my pleasure where I can find it. To want anything else… to hope for anything else… it's foolish."

"You want what you can _never_ have, it's what makes you so… perfect," Lust teased me, his smile turning dark, taunting, and malicious. "He that is so much _better_ than you. So holy. So beautiful… so _elvhen_." His words stabbed at me, and his eyes flashed with the pleasure of my pain. "How could you, a Tevinter mage, measure up to someone so perfect? You are unworthy to stand near him, unworthy to touch him… to kiss him."

"Shut up!" I snapped.

Lust chuckled, his voice reverberating with an unnatural growl against the walls. "Wouldn't you just love to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face?" Lust leaned over me, his robes falling to pool around his elbows, leaving the wide expanse of his chest bared to my eyes.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I'd rather wipe the smirk off yours!" I snapped, my anger finding a new, more deserving target. "Nothing about Bastian's smile is arrogant but you… you prance around wearing his face like you own it!" A wave of indigent fury coursed through my veins. I grabbed his lithe wrists and hauled us to our feet. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"I am Lust!" he hissed gleefully, still smiling, still laughing at me. "I am your torment and your tormentor. I make the blood burn. I turn your shame to anger and your desire to need." He reached out with his free hand, running fingers through my hair and fixing me with his ruby gaze. "I am brother to humiliation, sister to envy, mother to misery and father to _hate_," he whispered. "You will _never_ be free of me."

"Maybe not…" I narrowed my eyes at him, spitting my words through clenched teeth. "But I _can_ master you!" I flung him against towards where the couch should have been… but it was no longer there. Instead, Bastian's four poster bed had sprung up and Lust fell sprawled, face first, against the covers.

He glanced over his shoulder, a wild excitement mixing with that infuriating superiority. "Yes!" he hissed. "Punish him with your passion. Hold nothing back! He deserves it… for teasing you, for taunting you."

"Be silent!" My hand grabbed his lithe wrists and pinned them behind his back. The other flew towards that delicious derriere and landed a loud smack against the thinly veiled skin. Lust cried out, but the sound was far from pained or punished. I grabbed the hem of the robe and threw it up over his hips, baring the sun-stained skin of his bottom to my starving eyes. I ran my hand over the exposed flesh, feeling the warmth of the spot where I'd struck him, watching as it tinged with pink. I felt a stirring in my own loins, and, drawing back my hand, I struck again, then again. Lust cried out and writhed beneath me with each one and I found my breath coming heavier, my breeches growing tight at the sight of his half-hearted struggles.

He played the captor well. He read the very darkest desires of my anger and, by the fourth and fifth strike, his cries had become as tormented as they were aroused. By the eighth and ninth strike he was begging with a desperate innocence that wasn't sure if it was asking for mercy… or more. The expression he cast over his shoulder was so akin to what I'd expect of the real Bastian… that it was growing harder to remember that it _wasn't_ the real Bastian. It was that steel incredulity mixed with that flash of fear I'd seen a hint of before, the ruby eyes gazing at me wild and startled. I struck him again - his flesh turning an arousing shade of red – and with a cry his brow furrowed as he moaned through clenched teeth. "Cheap standards!" he sneered.

Some small part of my mind was still fighting, was still desperately trying to remind me that it _wasn't real_… but that rational part of myself was fast being drowned beneath the inferno that coursed through my veins. Desire and anger. Hate and Love. The line between the two was blurring faster than I could comprehend.

"How like a Tevinter human to conquer what it shouldn't touch… to sully what is sacred!"

I yanked him onto his back and glared into defiant, _arrogant_, ruby eyes. I took hold of first one wrist, then the other, lashing him to the bed posts by the silken scarves that hung ready…that hadn't been there a moment before. There was a screaming in the back of my head, one last violent protest from my sanity.

But Lust cried out, dragging my attention back to him, to the softness of exposed flesh, the heated flush over his face, the tousled beauty of white hair against red satin sheets. He moved his legs so that the robe fell away, leaving them long and bared. He twisted against the bed, acting out a part of shame as he tried to hide himself. My hand plunged beneath his robes before I could think, seeking out, and finding, his straining erection. Tall, hot, hard… weeping. The demon had been generous in his imaginings of Bastian's proportions, perhaps to an impossibility. My mouth watered as I felt him, touched him. How would he taste? How would he _feel_? He writhed against the violent strokes of my fingers. "Seems to me that you don't much mind being sullied, Inquisitor," I taunted him. "Whose standards are cheap now, hmm? Do you like this… being touched by a filthy human?"

He gasped, his expression falling from arrogance and pride to desire mixed with fear. "Dorian!" he cried, his voiced laced with desperation. "Please…"

Lust had meant for me to translate the cry as a desperate and surrendering plea for more… but the fear in those ruby eyes, the flash of pain that trespassed into the tone… it was like a knife to my already wounded heart. I gazed down at a man I admired… a man I _loved_. His wrists were chaffed from bindings made too tight in the throes of rage. The skin on the back of his legs and buttocks were darkening to bruises. He closed his eyes to hide his terror. The mirror was perfect now… too perfect. I drew my hands away from the mirror, Lust's eyes snapping open in surprise as I stepped back and away from the bed. I felt sick.

"You don't want to hurt him."

My eyes went wide at the sound of _that_ voice…of all the voices I might have heard... I turned my head and there he was, his ridiculously over-sized hat hiding his eyes - and whatever reflection of my own suffering I might see in them. I gazed at him for far longer than was polite, stunned stupid by his sudden appearance.

"You love him," Cole told me. "You love him more than anything. That's why you're so frightened all the time… why you're worried what he'll think or say. It's why you feel guilty, even though it's not your fault. You're afraid of wanting more than you should, and that's ok… Bastian is afraid of that too." He looked up, his hat tilting so that those eyes - round and filled with as much sympathy as my vulnerability - could fix upon my own. "He loves you more than anything too."

My heart leapt into my throat and thundered, his words swimming around in my head for several long seconds before settling. I opened my mouth and closed it several times, words failing me. "What are you doing here?!" I managed at last.

Cole glanced about as if only just realising he was anywhere odd. "I… don't know," he confessed. "Maybe… because you needed me? Because you were hurting and you wanted someone to stop you before you made it worse. You're afraid of Lust… afraid of falling. You're right to be." He twisted his hands together in front of himself and frowned. "He's a very powerful demon." His frown only deepened as he fixed his large eyes on the mirror. Following his gaze, a flash of embarrassment and shame consumed me… eating me from the inside out.

The demon thrashed against the covers, his fury directed at Cole. The spirit-boy stepped back in alarm, gazing at the beast with alarm.

I raised my hand, focusing all my will upon one small section of the fade. The bonds around Lusts wrists tightened and he turned his anger on me with a spine-chilling snarl.

Cole very bravely stepped up to the side of the bed again, his frown deepening as he gazed at the twisted mirror, revealed now for what it was in the absence of my passions. "He's dark and deadly… but not meant for you… not really."

"Not meant for me?" I arched an eyebrow, fixing on Coles words. Anything to spare me a moment longer against the storming embarrassment of realising exactly _what_ Cole had witnessed me doing to his Inquisitor friend. That Cole of all people had been the one to catch me made the entire act all the more obscene. "He's certainly been obsessing over me well enough!"

But Cole shook his head and looked up, his eyes fixing on me, imploring me to understand words that didn't come easily for him. "You're not afraid of Lust. You were never afraid of Lust. But _he_ is…" He turned and pointed aimlessly across the expanse of the fade. "The Inquisitor. The Herald. It's come to destroy him and it's supposed to wear your face to do it… because he loves you."

Lust roared with fury and threw himself up, the silk ties binding his wrists straining to keep him tethered.

Cole backed away from the bed as the mirror's expression turned twisted and savage. "We should go now…" he pleaded. "He's very angry that I helped you…" he looked up at me. "I don't like him."

"That's alright Cole." I took the boy's arm and pulled him back, my own attention focusing entirely on the writhing gnashing creature that still clung desperately to his cracking facade. "I don't think he much likes you either. You're right though… now would be a good time to wake up."

Cole nodded, his hat flopping with the movement. "Yes please."

"And… you'll be alright if I wake up?"

He tore his eyes from the demon to glance at me again. "I'll follow you out. If I hold on tight enough…"

"On three then… One… Two…"

* * *

><p>"Three!" I sat bolt upright, a cold sweat soaking my brow. Then I let out an undignified scream and scrambled back as my eyes focused and I realised I was nose to nose with the spirit-boy himself. Cole was kneeling on my bed, leaning over me, his large round eyes boring into my own.<p>

"Maker's balls, Cole!" I exclaimed.

"Sorry." He shuffled backwards and leapt off the side of the bed and onto his feet.

I took a moment to catch my startled breath, my hand resting over my heart. Cole lurked in that way of his, his hands twisting together nervously again.

"How _did_ you do that? Coming into the fade with me?"

"I don't know," Cole insisted again. "I didn't know I could." He shied away, stepping backwards. "I was pulled… I think… maybe. Your magic is very powerful and you were hurting a lot."

I heaved a sigh and leaned back against my pillows. "Well thank the Maker for small mercies." I looked up at him. "I owe you one, Cole…" I narrowed my eyes at the opposite wall. "Lust almost had me that time." I ran a hand through my hair as all the guilt, shame and embarrassment I'd been putting off rushed to catch up with me.

"You should tell Bastian. He would want to know," Cole insisted.

"No!" I cried, startling the boy with my sudden shout. "Maker… no." I said again, consciously lowering my volume. "Bastian doesn't need to know about this."

"But the demon-"

"I can deal with Lust," I assured him. "I won't fall prey to his tricks again, don't worry."

Cole looked unconvinced. "Lust is _very_ powerful, Dorian. He wants to wear your face, and he wants to hurt Bastian."

"I won't let him," I vowed. "Cole, I swear it. I won't let Lust hurt the Inquisitor."

"You want to not, and you believe it… but…"

"Please Cole, as your friend, I am asking you not to tell Bastian, or anyone, about what you saw me doing in the fade tonight. I'm regarded with enough suspicion already, if people found out… Look… I will deal with Lust. I promise."

Cole thought this over for a very long moment before he finally nodded. "Alright. I won't tell anyone what I saw you doing."

"Thank you." I nodded to him. "I appreciate it, Cole-"

The words had barely left my lips when I felt a slight shift in the veil and the boy-spirit vanished into nothingness. I blinked a few times in my surprise then shook my head to myself. He'd promised, and if nothing else, I believed Cole capable of keeping his word. I glanced out of my small window. It was still dark, still late. I can't have been dreaming for more than a few hours. I heaved another heavy sigh and rested my head against my pillows, already knowing that I'd find no more sleep tonight. Instead I was doomed to spend hour after hour stewing in my guilt and regrets.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's been mentioned in this story that this Inquisitor went with Dorian to recruit the mages. Therefore he never had the experience of meeting Cole and facing the envy demon while Cole, in turn, never had the experience of entering someone's mind in spirit form (At least as far as I know. I have his novel 'Asunder' on my shelf but I haven't got around to reading it yet). I know it's not <strong>_**quite**_** the same principle, but I'm working on the theory that in sensing Dorian's distress, Cole went to try and help and accidently slipped into his dreams the same way that he accidently slipped into the Inquisitor's mind when he helped face Envy. He then went ahead and used his spirit powers of awesomeness to sooth Dorian's Lust-warped anger, allowing him to remember how much he actually cares for Bastian. So… ta-dah! ^^ **


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